‘Transplant’ creator says ‘complete story’ of Syrian doc in Canada wraps this season

DEAR MISS LONELYHEARTS: My girlfriend and I — two women in our late 20s — are finally getting married.

Previously, we were both living with guys and it didn’t ever work for us. She thinks marriage itself was not her problem, but that guys are basically not suited to “loving” in the special ways two women can love.

So, here I am getting ready to give marriage another go — but with her! She’s a woman who’s a wonderful chef, decorator and a mother of two from her previous marriage. The problem we have as partners? I don’t care for the domestic arts myself — but I’d still like to have a child of my own.

That brings up another issue. I also have a male friend who’d be happy to get me pregnant — an old pal of mine who is a bachelor and would like to be a father and continue being platonic friends with me. He’d also help support the child financially.

Manitoba’s students are settling into a new school year. Whether you graduated in 1986 or 2006, today’s classrooms look very different from the ones you remember.

Students reflect the changing makeup of our communities — differences in social, emotional, physical and cognitive abilities and socioeconomic stresses are all increasingly present and adding to the complexity of our classrooms.

Meeting these differing individual needs is no easy feat. It requires manageable class sizes, school counsellors, social workers, specialized resource teachers and investment in the systems that can help students thrive. But when those supports aren’t available, students’ needs don’t disappear. Increasingly, it falls to classroom teachers to try to fill the gaps.

When I started working as a teacher more than 30 years ago, we had budgets for resources when we needed them. Today, the needs of students have diversified and increased, but the funding for our public schools is failing to meet them.

My mother-in-law, Malka, came to Toronto in 1958 from postwar Poland. She came with unbearable losses authored by the Third Reich fascist fantasies that had destroyed her world.

She suffered the murder of her husband and second child, a newborn. She endured a hatred of her very being that defies reason and reckoning, yet she came, nonetheless, with profound wits about her and a courage groomed by the black market in Siberia where she somehow kept her first-born toddler alive by placing her in an unlit closet where the child would be safe while Malka bartered for food.

After the war, she married a survivor whose wife and children and been exterminated. Together, they had a son; I married that son, his story and the longest hatred it embodied.

Even given the profound and forbidding ugliness of the world Malka fled, she somehow created, in her third act, a single piece of art she found beautiful.